


With no kind eyes

by Nelja-in-English (Nelja)



Series: Porn for every Power [5]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Begging, Breathplay, Comeplay, Desk Sex, Do Not Archive, Dubious Consent, Light Masochism, M/M, Mentions of Martin's crush on Jon, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Season/Series 03, Power Imbalance, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-20 05:39:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16549979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nelja/pseuds/Nelja-in-English
Summary: Martin has to repeat to himself that things aren't getting worse, because they aren't getting better.





	With no kind eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amber/gifts).



Martin goes back to work after five days.

Vacations are meant to be good. This one just remind him that he has basically no life outside of the Archives. Writing to his mother has become even harder. He doesn't dare to contact Melanie or Basira for a drink. They have their own mourning to do. Sometimes he hopes he will see them visiting Jon, but if they do, it's not when he's here. 

Of course, vacations offered by Peter Lukas are probably exactly meant to make you feel this way. He also knew that seeing Jon wouldn't make anything better, probably.

Peter offered him a therapist, too. But it's stupid. You're meant to tell the truth to a therapist. Not just "My mother hates me because I look like my absent asshole father" or "I'm in love with my boss who's in a coma." The whole truth. And no one can have it. They would focus on the wrong points and diagnose him with severe delusions. There is no Section 31 for therapists.

He just needs Jon to come back. He can't keep up like this. Talking to him, pretending he's here and can listen and isn't lost forever in a nightmare Martin should reach and can't. Seeing him with the face of a corpse, not daring to touch his pale, thin wrist with the tip of his finger, because he's afraid of finding it cold. Trying to be hopeful and ending up crying. All of this hurts more and more. He can visit, but he can't do this all day, and he has nothing else, no one else.

There's no one in the Archives. Basira and Melanie have more sense than Martin and actually took their vacations. And of course, Tim will never be back. Martin still finds some relief working. He wonders, can the Archives still take decently written statements, as Jon is not far away, and not dead? It would be nice to try. No, it would be nice only if it worked.

In the afternoon, the doors of his office open.

"I remember giving you some holidays," Peter Lukas says, pleasant tone, dark threats under. Martin wonders if Lukas feels like he's taking a holiday himself, right now, far from his... boat things. But he certainly doesn't take one from his religion, and the loneliness smell is heavy around him.

Martin swallows hard. "I took it as a recommendation, not an order. Someone needs to work here."

Peter Lukas looks at him with interest, and Martin shivers. He's not sure how this man scares him so much, in a way Elias never did. He tries to be brave, to look him in his pale grey eyes, and gets drawn into the coldness of it, like the Arctic sea...

Peter's voice is warm, though, as he answers with a laugh, "It's not like I can force you."

He could, he seems to say, oh, how easily he could.

Martin tries to avoid him at all costs, going as far as hiding behind his own desk once. It will be better, he thinks, when Basira and Melanie come back. And of course it will be better when Jon wakes up.

But Jon stays lost in his deathly sleep. And even if Basira and Melanie don't trust Peter Lukas, they don't seem to show the instinctive fear that makes Martin's insides freeze when he passes by. Maybe it's because they're friends, he thinks. They lost a lot, maybe more than Martin, but they still have each other.

Martin won't tell them that he fears Peter Lukas so much that sometimes he wishes that Elias would be back. He won't tell them anything except for hello, a few remarks about drinks and the weather, and news from Jon. Even that doesn't make it better. They show the appropriate degree of compassion, but it doesn't seem to be important to them. Or maybe it just feels like that to Martin, because for him it's the most important thing in the world.

Sometimes he gets to visit the other floors, talk a bit, but he makes people nervous now. Like they guessed that Tim wasn't having a breakdown after all, now that he's dead. Or who can say, maybe they blame Martin for the new boss? No, they don't know. It often seems like they know.

He starts working too late and sleeping in the Archives again. It was Jon's bed, he remembers, and then he wants to laugh and to cry. He does neither. 

He doesn't get better. He feels jumpier and jumpier, and being hopeful about Jon requires more and more conscious effort. At least Jon isn't getting worse, he repeats far too often. He has to say this, because nothing is getting better.

He's alone at his desk - of course - one day when he feels the Lukas fog envelop him, even before Peter knocks on the door.

"Come in," he calls. He tries to pretend he doesn't know who it is.

"Ah, Martin!" Peter says. "I'm glad to see you. I feel like you've been avoiding me recently."

"Maybe I have," Martin answers with a false smile which feels badly painted on his face. "I hope it didn't hurt your feelings. I assumed you'd prefer to be alone."

Yes, he's still terrified. But it's not like showing it will help. He can no longer hope Peter will get bored of him and leave. He's already joining him, skirting his desk, and Martin doesn't feel like he can flee in any way that matters.

Peter smiles, and Martin can't tell if he's actually finding him funny or just being predatory. "Actually, I find you more interesting than you can imagine. I hope that after the little stunt you pulled out with Elias, you didn't imagine _I_ would overlook you?"

Martin wasn't really expecting it, yes, but he would have loved it all the same.

"And I think it's time we get to know each other more," Peter keeps talking, raises a hand to Martin's cheek.

It's rugged and warm, but the touch is soft, exactly the reverse of what Martin would have imagined, and it's so unexpected that he can't stop himself leaning into it. 

This time, Peter really laughs. "Poor boy. You're so lonely I can feel it floors away. And you're still afraid of me? If I wanted to offer you to my God, it would be so easy, even with the protection you have here. That's not what I want from you."

"What do you want from me?" Martin asks.

Peter is caressing his cheek now, and Martin is shivering from shameful wonder. How long since someone touched him, anyone?

"But to help, of course. Aren't you the most hardworking person here?" Martin almost laughs, remembering how Jon used to reproach him slacking and poor work ethics. "And the most efficient too. It would be such a waste to lose you." He now cups Martin's face in his hands, and Martin hates how good it feels.

Peter is no longer young and his hair is almost white but he's tall with a sharp face, muscular body, and Martin's horrified to realize he would have found him quite attractive, if he had been able to believe he was human even for one second.

"How would you lose me?" Martin asks, trembling.

"As I mentioned, you're such an tempting prey. Accidents happen. But don't worry, I'm here for a more… personal interest."

And he starts to open Martin's shirt.

Martin wants to cry out, but he's not sure whether it's because it's absolutely inappropriate, or because Peter Lukas is no longer touching his face.

"What do you want, Martin?" Peter Lukas asks, amused. "Do you want me to stop?"

And Martin knows with absolute certainty that if he says yes, Peter will actually stop and leave, and Martin will stay by himself, with his skin hungering for more, his mind wandering an ocean of abstractness without any human touch.

"No," he whispers.

"Do you want me to keep going, or do you want more?" He shortly brushes one of Martin's nipples, just as a potential hint for what could happen.

Martin is blushing hard. He doesn't want this, not at all, he still wildly fears Peter Lukas, but he _needs_ it so much that he could die.

"More," he exhales again.

"Will you beg for it? For me? Well, for you too..."

Martin doesn't feel like he needs to hesitate. It's not like he has any dignity left. 

"Please," he asks. "Please, touch me more."

He wonders if a tape recorder is taking this. Well, it won't be a problem except if Jon wakes up, and then... it's superstitious, really. The worse he makes things for himself _if_ Jon wakes up, the most likely it is to finally happen.

Peter Lukas laughs, so amiably, like they were friends. "Thinking about your Archivist again? I'm not as adept at this as Elias was, but this I can easily feel, poor boy. I don’t take it badly, it makes all this even better for me." 

And he kisses Martin. On the lips, firmly, slowly, and Martin is horrified because it feels good, the softness on his lips, the tongue playing in his mouth. It shouldn't feel good, Peter Lukas worships loneliness and when did he get good at this? He grabs Martin's neck, pulls him closer.

"Are you planning to pretend I'm him?" Peter asks. He's so jovial, like all this was normal.

"No, never!"

"I feel appreciated, really." Peter kisses him again, but this time, he has his two hands against his neck, and he squeezes.

Martin can't breathe, he already felt like he was drowning anyway - he keeps his eyes open, looks into the grey eyes again - with in place of cold water sweet kisses from someone he doesn't even like. He squirms and struggles, but Peter's strong, heavy body has him pinned against his own desk. Martin's chest under his large one, one of his legs between Martin's, and if he stops fighting maybe their bodies will stop rubbing against each other in such an obscene way...

When Peter releases him, Martin takes a deep breath, and realizes he's hard in his pants. It's thoroughly unfair. But the pain around his neck feels... the pain is not like the pleasure. Even when the touch stops, it stays, instead of leaving him with nothing.

He's obedient when Peter Lukas swings him around and lowers his trousers. He can pretend that he's just obedient, that Peter Lukas couldn't easily make him beg for it again. He's not very good at this particular pretense.

He doesn't wonder where the lube comes from when Peter pushes one finger inside him - of course he planned this. 

"Elias told me you write poetry," Peter says in a pleasant voice. It's the worst time. And then his finger stops moving, like he was waiting for an answer first.

"Well, Elias knows everything, I guess," Martin answers. It's not something he wants to talk about. Never and especially not now. But he can't have Peter stop and leave him, he can't. 

"Marvellous. I hope you'll let me read it. I love sad poetry." Peter Lukas is putting a second finger in, scissoring slowly, and Martin squirms against the desk. It's not pleasant, too hard and smooth against the base of his cock, but it's better than nothing.

Fortunately, this time he doesn't stop when Martin doesn't answer. 

Martin wishes Peter Lukas would fuck him. He wishes he would remove his clothes and that his naked torso would rub against Martin's back. He wants his hands against his throat again.

He even wants to be kissed, and that's the worse of all.

"Fuck me," he whispers. "Please." Isn't it funny? This he can ask for, and not feel all dirty inside.

"You know, Martin" Peter says, as he curls three fingers inside him, "I think now is a really good time for you to start calling me Peter."

It's so weird that that's the point that makes Martin's cheeks burn and his tongue stumble. Peter notices it, of course, and laughs.

"Let's test it now." He stopped moving again. He's... evil seems too strong, well, he is, but he has done far worse. Still, Martin feels played with - and in a toy way, not in a player way. Even one who will lose.

But he could get out, and he doesn't. He fears he'll remember this part for a long time.

"Peter," he says slowly, almost carefully. "Please."

Peter could make him wait even longer, draw out Martin's humiliation. But maybe he's being nice, or maybe he really wants him. He grabs hold of Martin's hips and enters him firmly, slower than Martin expected (feared, hoped). It stretches but it doesn't hurt; it feels like human contact, even if it's anything but that.

Peter lets go of Martin's hips then takes his arms in his big, warm hands, makes him lean almost against the desk, and it does feels humiliating but it sure gives him such a good angle as he's slowly fucking Martin, hitting his prostate at every turn. Martin's cock is rubbing against the desk, and he’s crying already, out of pleasure and shame, relief and sadness. He no longer thinks. He lets this moment exist, pure sensation and raw feeling. 

(He can't forget who is fucking him, but he can stop dwelling on the fact.)

He comes with a long, deep moan. And then, as he's still shivering out of the aftermath of his orgasm, Peter Lukas just... pulls out. He hasn't even come yet. 

Martin feels wrong immediately. Was all this only for his own benefit? He wants more of Peter Lukas's cock, of his hands that have left his body. How can he feel so much like he's missing something when he's the one who actually orgasmed? Nothing stops him from standing straight now, but he doesn't dare.

"Please..." he moans again. 

He hears Peter Lukas hum in pleasure. "Good boy." 

His hand on his neck again, just one, not enough to stop him from breathing, but still so good, and then it gets higher, grips his hair. Martin readily lets himself be pushed down and backwards, his face just near the semen smudges he left on his own desk.

"Lick it clean," Peter Lukas orders, and Martin does. He tells himself it's because he doesn't want to be let go of, but if he thought about it more, he would have to admit he actually enjoys it, the messiness and the shame of it, the bitter taste of his pleasure and the smoothness of wood on his tongue. He licks slowly, diligently, not daring to raise his eyes.

At one point, Peter Lukas pushes on his head, sticking his cheek to the desk slick with saliva; and then Martin can see him again, though at a weird angle. Peter is almost entirely dressed, but his trousers are just opened enough to let his big, hard and too pale cock out. 

Martin hates the way his mouth waters at this sight; but he doesn't have the time to ask for anything, because Peter jerks himself two times and comes on his cheek and his hair. It's so hot and sticky and it runs on his face; Martin wants to cry, but he also wants to drink all of it, as his tongue darts out, tastes the semen dripping to the corner of his mouth.

Peter is all clothed again, seemingly clean even, as he distantly pets Martin's soiled hair. Martin wonders what it means to him.

Why did Peter Lukas do this? Why did they do this? Shame hits him again, no longer pleasurable even a bit, like a rain of rocks, one for every vivid memory of what he just did. And though, he won't stand up, won't scream, won't even reject Peter's hand.

"Did you..." he asks weakly, "did you do this to me? Make me so lonely, that I... that I..." He can't speak properly, in exhaustion or horror. Of course he doesn't know Peter Lukas' powers, but it sounds horribly logical to imagine he could. "On purpose... Make me..." So touch-starved that Martin ended up being fucked by a loneliness monster on his desk, and begging for it. It's not really his choice, is it? Maybe it is.

Peter Lukas smiles. Of course he does. He seems surprised, but even if it’s not a pretense, Martin has no idea if it's because it's an absurd idea or because he wasn't meant to guess.

"I'd say you find out by yourself," he answers, in a patronising but delighted tone. "Feed your god, you know."

Peter leaves, and it's for the best. Martin can fall down and cry, dirty and used and curled up one the office floor. He can try to convince himself that none of this will ever happen again.


End file.
